Family Matters
by JamesLuver
Summary: In the past, that combination of words together had never failed to send shivers down Anna's spine. In the present, she heaved a heavy sigh, pushing tendrils of hair that had escaped from her messy bun away from her face, whole-heartedly wishing that she never had to hear those words ever again.


**A/N:** For anon, who requested #1 _"Come over here and make me"_ on Tumblr. Kind of ran away with itself.

 **Disclaimer:** I don't own _Downton Abbey_.

* * *

 _Family Matters_

In the past, that combination of words together had never failed to send shivers down Anna's spine, warming her all over of the promises of things to come. It had become a teasing staple in their first marital home, a playful challenge whenever one was doing something that the other wanted to stop; it had led to many a spirited battle for dominance, an exciting ebb and flow of passion and need. She couldn't count the number of times that she had taunted him in a sing-song voice, only to have John almost wild in his desire to meet her contest head on. Likewise, when he had muttered those same words to her in a smoky whisper, undressing her with his eyes, she had been almost mad with lust. Many occasions like that had led to them tangled in a mess of sweaty limbs with the rumpled sheets knotted around their ankles.

In the present, she heaved a heavy sigh, pushing tendrils of hair that had escaped from her messy bun away from her face, whole-heartedly wishing that she never had to hear those words ever again.

"Come over here and make me!"

Wiping her hands on the dishcloth, Anna made her way towards the open back door, which led out onto their modest garden. She shielded her eyes against the glare of the summer sun and peered out to see what the commotion was all about.

Five year old Jack stood stretched out on his tiptoes, holding his sister's doll as high above his head as he could manage. Younger by seventeen minutes, Florence was red-faced and on the verge of tears as she tried to leap and snatch the doll back, to no avail. When that didn't work, she pushed him in the chest, making him stumble backwards.

"What on _earth_ is going on here?"

Anna's voice rang out in the quiet air, and both children stopped what they were doing at once, turning to their mother with pleading eyes, both clamouring to be heard over the other.

"Jack stole Rosie, Mummy!"

"Flo was getting in the way of my train track!"

"Jack built it around my tea party!"

"Flo put her stupid doll on the line so the train couldn't go!"

"All right, enough!"

Both children fell silent, identical sullen expressions on their faces. Anna resisted the urge to roll her eyes; they'd both perfected John's pouty, gloomy look. She would have to have a little word with him about brooding in front of them if this was going to be the result.

"Both of you know that this behaviour is unacceptable," she said. "I won't have you causing a scene, not when there are guests around. What have I told you about that?"

"That we should be polite and helpful," Jack muttered.

"And do you think you're being polite and helpful when you're arguing at the top of your voice with your sister?"

"But she was the one who started it!" he burst out indignantly.

"I was _not_!"

"I've said, _enough_ ," Anna snapped. "Just you wait until Daddy hears about this. He won't be happy."

Both children fell silent at once, though two sets of reproachful hazel eyes glared at her. John rarely lost his temper with his children, and certainly never gave them the hard discipline that other fathers administered, even when they probably _should_ have received a clip around the ear, but John had mastered the quiet disappointment that most children hated. Anna knew that it worked far better than anything else would.

"I think it's time you both came inside," she continued. "If I can't trust you to behave yourselves while I'm in the kitchen then you'll stay in the sitting room where I can keep an eye on you without you disturbing anyone else."

"But that's _boring_!" Jack complained. He looked as if he would quite like to stamp his foot to emphasise his point, but Anna raised her eyebrow, just daring him, and he thought better of it. It didn't lessen his scowl, however. Both children looked so much like their father that Anna had a hard time keeping a straight face. She always melted quickly when John gave her the wounded puppy look.

She remained firm now, however. "It might very well be boring, but you've no one to blame but yourself, John Daniel Bates. Next time perhaps you'll think twice before stealing your sister's doll. And you," she said, turning to her daughter, who had looked quite pleased at getting away scot-free, "you're just as much to blame. You should have come straight to me instead of causing a scene."

"But Mummy," Flo whined.

"There is no _but Mummy_. Play inside quietly or you'll both be sent to your rooms with no supper. And there's a jam tart tonight. You wouldn't want to miss that, would you?"

Defeated, Jack and Flo shook their heads. Jack thrust Rosie roughly back into Flo's arms before stomping off with wounded pride. Anna glanced at the mess in the garden, but she knew better than to try and force him to tidy up after himself when he was in a bad mood. Once he'd calmed down she would ask him to put his things away. The rain was holding off. That was one thing.

Florence trailed dejectedly after her brother, dragging Rosie along the ground. Anna winced. The ragdoll would need another rinse through before the dirt stained the red dress. She would have to see to it later after dinner.

"Now, I have to finish preparations for dinner before Daddy comes home," she told her daughter as she closed the back door firmly behind her. "Why don't you colour for a little while?"

Flo gave no answer, as stubborn as her brother. It was a streak that evidently ran through the Bates family. Heaving another sigh, Anna went back to the pastry she had been preparing.

An hour later, she heard the front door unlock.

"Hello!" John's voice was cheerful. She heard him rustling about in the hallway, before his familiar half-step sounded closer.

"In the kitchen!" she called. A moment later her husband appeared in the threshold looking tired, but his smile was genuine.

"There you are," he murmured, his voice husky. "You're a sight for sore eyes after a long day."

"I probably do look a sight," she grumbled. "I'm done in."

"You look radiant," John told her, stepping into the room. His smile broadened, the familiar crinkles deepening around his eyes. "Even if you've got jam smudged on your face and flour in your hair."

"What?" Anna groaned, reaching to swipe at her face. Moving with a speed that belied his age, John caught her wrist.

"Allow me," he whispered.

Before she could answer, his mouth descended on her cheek. She shivered when she felt the heated silk of his tongue against her skin, but it was over too soon. John kissed her—long enough that she tasted the jam—and there was heat in his gaze when he pulled away.

"The children are quiet," he growled. "Are they napping? How long until dinner? Do we have time…?" He let the question tail off, raising his eyebrow suggestively. Anna felt her stomach flutter, but she ignored it. Now was not the time. Instead she turned away, bending to check the stew on the hob.

"No, the children aren't napping," she said.

John looked surprised. "No? What have you done with them? They're quieter than church mice."

"I suspect they're still sulking."

"Sulking? Whatever for?"

"For misbehaving earlier. They were arguing over Flo's doll." She filled him in on the rest of the tale.

"Wonderful. Do you want me to have a word?"

"If you want."

"I'll try. I'm not sure how much they'll listen to me."

"You made them into Daddy's children. I'm the big bad wolf in this house," she teased.

John cast her a look. "Well, I won't dispute that you can be very naughty at times, but I don't see any hair. Thank God."

Anna made to flick the dishcloth at his backside as he stepped neatly out of the way, and she couldn't stop her laughter. "You cheeky beggar. Just you wait."

"I'm counting on it," he told her, voice a sultry whisper. In the next moment he drew himself to his full height, his voice the booming voice of the parental figure as he strode into the sitting room. Anna followed him, leaning against the doorjamb as she surveyed the scene in front of her.

Jack and Florence were each sitting at opposite ends of the room, pointedly ignoring the other. Flo had retrieved her colouring like Anna had asked her to, and Jack had one of his books across his lap, one of the ones that he was reading with John.

"So what's this I've heard from Mummy about you both misbehaving?" John rumbled. "That certainly wasn't the news I wanted to come home to."

Jack looked up from his book, his face set. "Daddy, I already told Mummy that it was all Flo's fault! She was getting in the way!"

"No, Daddy!" Flo piped up at once. She sounded on the verge of tears. "It was Jack!"

"You both sound as bad as each other," said John. He limped into the room, settling himself on the sofa. Anna followed him, perching herself in his armchair. John patted the seat either side of him, indicating that he wanted Jack and Flo to join him. They did after a moment's hesitation, glancing at each other accusatorially. John wrapped an arm around each of their little shoulders, letting them know that he wasn't about to start raging at them.

Anna smiled, a touch melancholy. There were deep seated issues why he was so cautious in discipline. Even through his sheer happiness, John had worried that he could never be a proper role model. His age, his infirmity, his damaged past…all of it, he'd agonised to her, pointed towards the probability that he would be a useless excuse for a father. Just like he'd been a useless excuse for a husband. Those words had remained unspoken by him, but the belief had been clear in his eyes; Anna hadn't been able to bear that even then, years on, he still blamed himself for things that couldn't be changed. She would never forget the things that she had been forced to live through, but she would not allow them to beat her by dwelling on them every day. Now they barely resurfaced at all. She could go weeks without remembering. Her happy memories crowded them out. But John's own past had haunted him bitterly on the dark nights of her pregnancy. When he had finally opened up about the true extent of the abuse he had suffered at the hands of his drunkard father, her heart had torn anew for the stoic, gentle soul who shared her bed.

" _You are not your father,"_ she'd told him fiercely. _"You would never hit our child with a belt, or slap them unprovoked. You are_ nothing _like him."_

" _I'm more like him than you think,"_ he'd replied bitterly. _"He was the man I became."_

" _But not the man that you_ are _. You fought all that. And you know exactly what it felt like to be scared and alone. You'd never allow your child to feel that way."_

She'd been proven right, of course. John worshipped the ground that their children walked on. And it had been Anna's greatest pleasure to name their son after him, to prove to him once and for all that he could never be anything but the greatest role model any child could wish for. So far Jack was growing to be the apple of his father's eye, and Anna couldn't be happier for it. She watched now as John gently ruffled Jack's hair.

"I won't deny that I'm very disappointed in you, Jack."

Jack scrunched his nose. "But it wasn't just me."

"I'm not disputing that." He glanced at Flo. "Don't think you're getting away scot-free, Flossy."

Flo looked stricken that her daddy's affectionate nickname for her was being used in such a disapproving tone. John turned back to Jack.

"But what have I always told you?" he continued.

Jack was silent for a moment. "That one day I'll be the man of the house and I'll have to look after Mummy and Florence."

Anna's heart wrenched. It was true that John was getting on in years—his hair was more grey than dark, and last year he had finally given in and bought spectacles for his reading—but she hated to think on that. To live on without him, no, it was unspeakable. Unthinkable.

John knew how she felt about such matters. Casting her a sad, apologetic smile, he said, "That's right. I'll need you to be big and strong to carry on the mantle of responsibility."

"Re…Reponsibility?" Jack echoed, stumbling over the pronunciation.

"Yes. Now how would you feel if you saw one of the other boys at school being mean to your sister?"

"Mad," their little boy supplied.

"And what would you do if the boy was holding something of Flo's away from her, and she couldn't get it back?"

"I would help," Jack said earnestly.

"Yes, you would help her. So tell me, son: why were you acting the part of the mean boy today?"

Jack's eyes filled with tears as the realisation hit home. "Daddy, I didn't mean to be mean! But she was in my way! I wanted to play with my train but she was playing with her dolly!"

"Was not in the way!" said Flo, her own voice sounding dangerously teary. "Daddy…!"

He shushed her gently, turning steady brown eyes back on his son. "Whether you meant it or not, you were cruel to her. She wasn't really causing any harm, and if she wouldn't move after you'd asked her nicely then you should have fetched Mummy to sort things out. Violence of any sort is never the answer, John."

His mother had put up with the drunken outbursts because she'd needed the security of the money her husband brought home. Only when she'd discovered that he'd been hitting her son too had she decided to make her own way in the world, disappearing into the anonymity of London. Anna's heart ached for the things that he and she herself had suffered at the hands of men who should have protected them.

Jack pouted at his full Christian name, which made Anna bite her lip to stifle her grin; she and John never called him anything other than Jack unless they were truly displeased with him (John had drawn the line at junior with the fiercest scowl she'd ever seen).

"I'm sorry," he muttered. "I won't do it again, Daddy." He leaned around so he could see his sister and added, grudgingly, "I _am_ sorry, Flo."

Flo nodded. Now John turned to her. "And you, missy, you're as bad. There was absolutely no need to push Jack today. If _you_ had a problem you should have gone to Mummy. I've seen what it is for a woman to strike a man too, and it's inexcusable."

Vera had struck him once, or thrown something, and cut open his cheek. Even now, years on, he hadn't told her the full story behind it. Anna respected his wishes, but she'd never been able to forget the haunted look in his eyes either.

"No matter how angry you are, you should never raise a hand to another person. If you saw someone hurting Jack you wouldn't like it either, would you?"

Florence shook her head, her lip wobbling. John sighed, brushing her hair away from her face. "Don't cry, love. Daddy's not cross with you. But you put Mummy under quite a bit of stress today, and that's not good for her. I told you that you need to be especially good for her, and you disobeyed me."

"I'm sorry, Mummy," said Florence, before she began to sob in earnest. Anna took the reins, sliding smoothly from her seat and moving to hitch her baby girl into her arms. John opened his mouth as if he wanted to protest, but she shook her head. Now was not the time to fuss.

"It's all right, baby girl," she murmured into the dark hair. "It's all right. Here, why don't you help me dish up dinner? And afterwards we can have some cocoa."

Flo nodded, sniffing. Anna wiped her face gently with the handkerchief that she always kept tucked about her person, cooing all the while.

"What about me?" Jack piped up. "I want to help too, Mummy!"

"And you shall. I need a big, strong man to carry the plates to the table."

Jack swelled with pride at that, bouncing from the sofa. Without another word he bounded from the room. Flo wriggled, wanting to be put down so that she wasn't missing out on anything, and Anna watched as she shadowed her brother. When they'd both disappeared from sight, she turned back to her husband, who was now reclining on the sofa, fingers steepled together. Her heart swelled against the restrictions of her chest.

"You know, you could have handled that," he said, raising his eyebrow.

Anna giggled. "I know. But I like to see you being the paternal figure."

"You are a menace, Mrs. Bates. No wonder they're so feisty. I've got my hands full keeping you all in line."

"And you do such a good job of it," she joked, leaning over the back of the sofa to press a kiss to his temple before following their children out of the room.

* * *

After they'd been out in the garden to tidy away the mess, rinsed Rosie through and set her by the fire to dry, and consumed the cocoa—thankfully with only one minor accident from Flo as she nodded off over the dregs in her cup—John and Anna carried the twins up to their beds. Both changed into their night things sleepily, and crawled under their covers. Flo clutched her now-dry doll tightly to her chest as first John and then Anna bent in to kiss her forehead. When they had tucked Jack in too, Anna clicked off the light. Both were fast asleep before the bedroom door was pulled to.

"Now what?" Anna whispered cheekily, reaching up to brush lint from her husband's shirt. He chuckled throatily.

"I don't know about you, but an early night sounds heaven to me right now," he replied.

"I like your thinking, Mr. Bates," she giggled, and slipped her hand into his, dragging him to their room at the other end of the corridor.

When they arrived, however, the teasing mood fell away. Calmness washed over her. John didn't seem in a hurry to get her into bed either, and so their usual nightly routines began. The silence was pleasant.

"What a day," Anna sighed as she sat at her vanity, braiding her hair.

John chuckled, drawing the curtains. "You'll be glad to see them off to school on Monday."

"Helping in the hotel is less work than those two. They never warn you about raising children, do they?"

"But you wouldn't change them for the world."

"What do you think?" she teased, shooting him a smile through the mirror. They had their moments, but most of the time Jack and Florence were model children. Without a doubt they were her greatest achievement, and she knew that John felt the same. For every stressful day there were twenty others filled with joy and laughter. Even on the difficult days the love she felt for her children was simply matchless.

John lowered himself to the mattress, running a hand over his chin. His hair had become increasingly dishevelled as the evening had worn on, and she could hear the faint scratch of new stubble growing through. There was a certain appeal about him when he was rugged. She was so used to seeing him starched and buttoned up that it was nice when she could have him as nature intended.

"I'm exhausted," he announced as he ran a hand through his hair, messing it further.

"A bad day?" She clucked sympathetically. "I'm sorry, I was so caught up in the twins that I forgot to ask you."

"No need to be sorry. They'd drive anyone to distraction. And no, everything was fine. It was just tiring. Peter had to go home ill halfway through the day so I was trying to run the reception desk and then oversee the cleaning and the dining room at the same time."

"What? John, you should have come for me! I could have handled one."

"And what would you have done with the children?"

"I'm sure they could have stayed in the office for a couple of hours."

"With how they've been today I'm not sure you could have trusted them not to misbehave even then."

"You might be right there. But next time if you're struggling, send for me. We're a team."

John chuckled. "A very good team." There was fatigue in his gaze, but something else too. Anna bit her lip to hide her smile.

"Enough of your flannelling. Get out of those clothes," she ordered. "They'll crease otherwise."

"I'll press them tomorrow. It's Sunday."

"We're taking a picnic to the beach in the afternoon. Come on, off."

John laughed, but it was low and husky. Desirous. Anna shivered. She waited with bated breath for his next move, tingling all over with anticipation. There was promise in every second that lingered between them.

"Come over here and make me," he murmured at last.

Anna grinned at his choice of words. Suddenly they weren't such a nuisance. He stretched his arms above his head, his chin jutted in a challenge. Events of the day melted away as she clambered over him, settling over his thighs and immediately unhooking the buttons on his dress shirt. John looked pleased with himself as he ran his hands up and down her sides, and she couldn't suppress her shudder at the warmth of his touch through her thin nightgown.

Soon, clothes of all variety were thrown haphazardly all over the floor. In the morning they most certainly would need pressing, but with John's mouth wreaking havoc over every nerve she had, Anna found that despite her assertions of moments previous, she just couldn't bring herself to care.

* * *

They lay together for a few glorious minutes in the aftermath, before John reluctantly slipped out of bed, padding naked around the room as he retrieved more appropriate sleepwear. Anna twisted so she could watch him, feeling a pang of regret when he pulled his bottoms up over his rather lovely backside. He bent down and retrieved her nightgown on his way back, and she slipped it over her head when he handed it to her. Order restored. Restrictions back in place. She rolled on her side, and John snuggled up behind her. The barrier of clothing might have robbed her of the wonderful feeling of bare skin on bare skin, but it couldn't take away from the intimacy.

Anna closed her eyes, exhausted. John chuckled huskily against her neck, pressing a kiss to her skin. His hand came up to cup her stomach, and she couldn't resist pressing her hand snug to his, keeping it against her. Beneath his touch, she felt the odd, bubble-like sensation. John couldn't yet feel the baby for himself, but it certainly seemed most active whenever he pressed his hand to her or spoke. Another daddy's girl, she'd wager.

A third child, she thought ruefully. It certainly hadn't been part of their plans, even if it had been the most wonderful shock. On days like this one, just the thought of another Baby Bates left her exhausted. She had enough trouble with the occasional contention between her two children now, without a squalling baby demanding her attention every second of the day.

But, she thought as John rested his head in the crook of her neck, his breath beginning to even out, she truly couldn't wait for it.


End file.
